Bands! Play On!

Bands! Play on!

Between these crowded alleys and terraces

Of stone; this place of whisperings, smog and

Air full of dust that swirls in the brown

Darkness of the evening and lanterns hanging

Like fireflies I find hope.

In this dynamism of old boarding houses

Once full of dock workers, brothels full of painted things

And guesthouses from the 1920s – guests that don’t come

Here anymore – those ‘70s colours splashed around;

Graffiti! The fact that in this street there is no one

White wall and the music. Yes. The music of the

Man who lives next door with a daughter who

Never comes to visit and a wife who has forgotten

Him and her with his piano, playing hours of blues

As the evening rolls in off the hills that surround

This town and as it turns, then, to night his music

Stops. Only for a moment before continuing as

Chopin – the music of his first ballade booms out

From behind the wall behind our bed and no and

Again – in daylight – does he come to me and says:

I hope you don’t mind the piano last night.

To which I say: not at all, my friend.

So, Bands! Play on!

Sing your sweet song late

Into the night and for God sake

If I may be literary at all in my brief

Life in this world let me be literary here

Let me be filled with all the melancholy of

Winter and choice here in this street full of colour

And life.